Archive of Our Own

Fall term’s only been in session for three weeks, but, inevitably, Gunwook’s already on Saturday detention duty. He tries not to sigh as he makes his way down to the first floor room where the students will be waiting for their monitor. He doesn’t hate detention duty - it’s a good way to ensure some time to get his own work done - but he’d also rather be outside, or in the Slytherin common room, or practicing with his Quidditch team, or any of a hundred other things that he can’t do if he’s stuck in a room monitoring the students who’ve gotten in enough trouble during the week to warrant weekend detentions. Nonetheless, it’s the sixth year prefects who get the joy of it, and since the other three had conflicts like a Slytherin/Gryffindor Quidditch match (Ricky and Hanbin, respectively) or an Astronomy conference (Taerae), it’s up to him to spend this remarkably beautiful September Saturday indoors.

“Alright, everyone” he says, mustering his most convincing cheerful face as he opens the door and steps into the classroom, “books out. If we all stay on task and get our work done quietly, maybe Professor McGonagall will let us out early when she comes to check in at noon.”

The students eye him warily. A first year he recognizes from the group of newbies in Slytherin nods vigorously in overeager agreement, while a pair of Gryffindor third years sigh in unison and begin rummaging in their bags for their books. The fourth person in the room, a fifth year swallowed in Ravenclaw blue that only makes the white of his skin look paler, folds his arms and leans back in his seat, his gaze daring Gunwook to call him out.

“No homework?” Gunwook asks incredulously, searching his mind desperately for the name he’s heard attached to this particular student.

“Already finished it.”

“C’mon, Yujin,” and gosh, Gunwook hopes that’s the right name, “You’re a fifth year. You’ll be sitting your O.W.L.s in nine months. Surely you’ve got something to study.”

Yujin just turns to look out the window, and if this is how he is in all his interactions, well, Gunwook can kind of understand why he’s wound up in weekend detention so early in the term.

If there were no one else in the room, Gunwook would honestly probably let it go, because there’s just something about the guy that seems vaguely sad, even if he’s doing his best to scream unapproachable to everyone within a twenty foot radius. But, there are three other, younger, impressionable students in the room, and they’re all watching to see what Gunwook’s going to do with this blatant disregard for his authority.

“Ok,” Gunwook says, getting out his bag and dumping out his books. “You transferred from Durmstrang, right?” There , he thinks with satisfaction as Yujin’s attention turns back to him, a hook .

Yujin gives the briefest of nods.

“Great,” Gunwook says, smiling with all the confidence he can muster. “You can check my translation

of the German texts for my History class. I’m pretty sure I’m getting some of the colloquialisms wrong.” He digs out a scroll and walks it over to where Yujin sits in the back of the room, sets it in front of him. “This is just a practice scroll, so please mark whatever you notice, and then you can explain it to me when you’re done.”

Gunwook strolls back to the front of the room and turns his attention to the other students. “Books out,” he says, smiling, and there’s a sudden obedient shuffle from the rest of the group as he settles into the chair at the front and gets out his own work, “let’s get this done.”

--

“Tell me about the new guy,” Gunwook says to Hanbin when the four of them are sitting together the next week at dinner. “What’s his story?”

“You mean one of the first years?” He looks at him in confusion, ignoring Taerae at his side as he busily debates a point of ethics with Ricky, who is clearly only going along with the conversation in order to wind him up.

“No,” Gunwook says, snagging another roll as the basket goes past, “the transfer student. Yujin.” “Oh,” Hanbin frowns, “him. I don’t know, to be honest. He’s a tough nut to crack.”
“He transferred from Durmstrang, right?”

“Yeah,” Hanbin nods in confirmation, “I didn’t know he was joining Hogwarts until just a couple of days before term started. Dumbledore put him through the sorting hat privately, at his request, because he didn’t want to be a spectacle with all the first years.”

Gunwook nods understandingly. Transfer students aren’t unheard of, but they’re rather rare, and since each school organizes itself differently, there’s always a certain amount of hoopla that new arrivals have to deal with as they get settled in their new life. He can sympathize with wanting to keep as much of it out of the public eye as possible.

“Are you talking about Yujin?” Taerae leans in, talking with his mouth open and skillfully ignoring Ricky’s disgusted face. “He’s in Gyuvin’s potions class; he doesn't like how good he is."

Hanbin nods again, ignoring Taerae's comment. “He does seem very smart. And diligent, I suppose, in a strange way - his work’s always done in classes, even if I never see him studying.”

Ricky makes an interested noise. “I think Durmstrang’s ahead of us in a lot of subjects.” He fixes his hair in the reflection of a spoon. “From what I’ve heard, they can be pretty brutal. It’s probably pretty easy for him to do the work without studying too much.”

“Or maybe he just prefers to study in private,” Taerae suggests.

“Just because Ravenclaws like ‘alone time’ with their books...,” Ricky starts, making a rude hand gesture, and he and Taerae are off and running again.

Hanbin rolls her eyes. “He’s Ravenclaw's back-up Seeker. His try-out was amazing, he’s incredibly fast on a broom. I saw him one time when I was studying on the Quiddich bleachers. But he keeps getting in trouble with the teachers, which means he hasn’t been able to come to many practices. I don’t know if he’ll end up getting to play much, if at all.”

“He’s a Seeker?” Gunwook can’t help his interest.

“Yeah,” Hanbin’s face lights up, remembering. “Honestly, if he could stay out of trouble, he’d be

their main seeker. You should see him fly, Gunwook, it’s something else.”

“So what’s his deal with getting in trouble? Why was he giving me attitude in weekend detention three weeks into the term?”

“I don’t really know, to be honest,” Hanbin says, frowning again. “He and Gyuvin fight all the time, it’s incredibly obnoxious; that’s definitely part of it. I think Gyuvin feels like Yujin’s stealing his spotlight, and so he just picks at him, and Yujin’s not able to let it go. Not that I can really blame him.” He sighs in irritation. “Any class they’re in together is a trial for all concerned, I’m told.
And I don’t think he really understands how to interact with the professors yet. Durmstrang values a much more aggressive and competitive atmosphere, and I think he just keeps ending up on the wrong end of everyone’s temper. Professor Sprout’s the only one I’ve seen who seems to like him, but she likes everyone.”

“She doesn’t, though,” Gunwook muses, and Hanbin shrugs.

“She acts like it, then. Either way, I think that’s the only class he hasn’t lost points in yet. Hey,” he says, his eyes brightening, “you’re really good with the newer students, and you’re a Seeker too. Maybe you could spend some time with him, see if you can figure out how to help him adjust.”

“Hmm,” Gunwook says, turning the idea over in his mind. A green-clad elbow lands in his dessert, requiring him to turn and smack Ricky upside the head in justifiable retribution, and then any hope of further conversation is lost in favor of defending his meal.

It’s not till he’s lying in bed late that night thinking over the day that Hanbin’s words come back to him. He’s not sure what he can do, really, but he hates to think of Yujin missing out on opportunities just because he’s having trouble settling in. It’s not much, he thinks, but as he drifts off to sleep he resolves to speak to Professor Sprout. It’s a good place to start.

--

“Why do you want to know?” Professor Sprout asks, eyeing him suspiciously as she hands him a bucket of soil.

“I just… he seems a little lost,” Gunwook says, stowing the bucket under the workbench and reaching for a trowel. Yujin’s been in every detention duty session Gunwook’s had, each time without work to do, prepared to just stare silently out the window until Gunwook gives him something to focus on.

“Mmm,” Professor Sprout replies, setting out a row of seedlings and gesturing to the shelf. “Get your gloves.”

Gunwook complies, coming back to stand next to her, waiting for instructions.

“These need to be repotted,” she says, gesturing to the seedlings, “but they’re sensitive. You must handle them very, very carefully, and with no excessive touching. Take as much time as you need with each one, but be careful to move them with as much delicacy as you can manage.” She pauses. “And a word of warning. They cry. Don’t let yourself be moved.”

“Yes, professor,” Gunwook says, and reaches for the first pot.

“I tell you this in strict confidence, you understand,” she begins, hands working deftly to scoop out a seedling, transferring it oh-so-carefully to its new pot, even as the seedling wails the soft, heartbreaking cry of a small creature in utter distress. “There you go,” she says to it, patting down the dirt. “You’ll feel better in a minute.”

“I understand, Professor,” Gunwook says, preparing the new pot in front of him with a layer of dirt, and steeling himself for the sound of his own seedling as he lifts it gently from its nest. The cries stab at his heart, but he forces himself to be delicate and deliberate as he sets it into the new soil, filling in around it until he can’t hear the sound anymore.

“I’ve spoken with McGonagall about Yujin. He has some particular challenges. I assume you know he’s a transfer student from Durmstrang?”

“Yeah,” Gunwook says, readying his next pot. “Hanbin said he didn’t know he was coming until right before term started.”

“Yes,” Professor Sprout agrees distractedly, lifting another seedling out and cooing to it as she moves it carefully over. “And before Durmstrang, he was at Beauxbatons, and before that, he was at Ilvermorny.”

“Oh,” Gunwook says in surprise, gritting his teeth at the pitiful wail coming from his second seedling as he settles it carefully into the fresh soil. “So I should be having him check my French translations too, then,” he muses, adding the extra dirt.

Professor Sprout snorts. “Probably,” she agrees, “Minerva says he’s very bright, and very driven. Just… bad with people.”

“Have his parents moved around a lot? I’ve never heard of anyone attending four schools like that. Even diplomats’ kids only attend two, or maybe three at the most.”

“He doesn’t have any,” Sprout says softly, and the soft cry of the seedling in her hands underlies the sentiment clutching at Gunwook’s heart. “He was found in a Muggle orphanage when he was eleven, and brought to Ilvermorny. I don’t know all of the details, but he’s been placed with different wizarding foster families, none of which have worked out well. He was kicked out of Durmstrang over the summer when someone found out that at least one of his parents was likely a Muggle.” She shakes her head disapprovingly even as her hands deftly support the weeping seedling, transferring it to its new home. “Dumbledore agreed to take him, and now he’s here as a permanent boarder until the age of eighteen.”

“Oh,” Gunwook answers, and stands still for a moment, looking at the three seedlings he’s successfully repotted. He hopes he didn’t hurt them too much; it’s impossible to tell, of course, without digging them up, which would only hurt them more. He just has to trust that Professor Sprout wouldn’t have him doing this if she didn’t believe in his abilities. He gives himself a shake, and reaches for the next pot.

Professor Sprout tsks. “I know there’s been some rumor that he doesn’t belong in Ravenclaw,” she continues, “but Minerva assures me that’s not the case. He’s clever and thoughtful as much as any of the rest of them, and inviting to a fault, just… not to any of us.”

“Hanbin said he and Gyuvin fight a lot,” Gunwook comments, “and that he’s a Seeker, but hasn’t been able to play much because he keeps ending up in detention.”

Professor Sprout nods. “I saw him practicing with them once; incredible raw skill, but no discipline. He’s got a lot of potential, but no direction. I know Minerva’s working on it, but…” she pauses, settling her last seedling into its pot and patting down the dirt, then turning to watch as Gunwook finishes preparing his last pot and carefully cradles his last seedling in his big hands, trying to simultaneously comfort and not overwhelm it. He can feel the weight of her gaze on him as she hums thoughtfully before continuing. “Gunwook, I think he needs a friend.”

--

“Come on,” Gunwook says, glancing around the first floor classroom. The rain is bucketing down outside, and the room is drafty with it, the windows thick with condensation.

“Where are we going?” Yujin asks, picking up his bag and huddling deeper into his red scarf. It’s lucky that it’s only Yujin assigned to Gunwook’s detention session this morning, or Gunwook would never be able to do this, but… he’s been thinking about Yujin, thinking about what it must be like to transfer through four schools and end up in a country you’ve never lived in, shoved into a house with the loudest and most competitive of your peers.

“You’ll see,” Gunwook says, and smiles, waiting for Yujin to catch up. They hustle through the corridors and down the stairs towards the Slytherin common room.

“Whoa,” Yujin says, pausing in the doorway. Gunwook smiles and turns back, holding out a hand. Yujin’s face is awestruck, the firelight playing on the sharp angles of his cheekbones and jaw, lending a warmth to Yujin’s complexion that Gunwook’s never seen before. “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here?”

“Come on,” Gunwook says again, beckoning Yujin forward. “Everyone else is out at the Quidditch match. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let you do anything fun,” he says dryly, and Yujin punches out a surprised laugh, stepping forward into the room proper. “But there’s no reason we have to be trapped in the dampest, draftiest room in the castle just to do homework.”

It’s a gamble; he hasn’t technically asked permission for this, but he’s counting on the fact that McGonagall and Sprout are both invested in helping Yujin acclimate and also that literally everyone else really is at the Quidditch match, watching Hanbin and Ricky face each other down for only the second time this semester. Gryffindor/Slytherin matches have been getting better every year, and even with the pouring rain, no one who doesn’t have to would want to miss it.

Yujin’s eyes are wide, taking in the tall windows giving a stunning view of the lake and the series of plush and green couches, the silver decal that adorns every nook, and the plush rugs that cover almost the entire floor.

“Sit anywhere,” Gunwook says, taking his own favorite overstuffed armchair by the fire and settling in. “Let me guess, homework already done?”

Yujin finally tears his eyes away from examining the room long enough to plunk himself down on a cushion directly in front of the fire, and it makes a small warmth grow in Gunwook’s chest to see that Yujin can and will seek out comfort when presented with it. He’s not an aesthete after all, just someone used to ignoring their own deprivation, and Gunwook makes a silent vow to make sure that Yujin unlearns that particular hardness.

“Let’s get this over with,” Yujin says, rolling his eyes, but with the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Give me your German homework.”

Gunwook laughs, and reaches for the appropriate scroll. The rain intensifies outside, falling in rattling sheets of cold and wet, but the firelight is casting flame-tinted shadows on Yujin’s hair and Gunwook can feel a flush rising in his own cheeks.

“I think it’s better this time,” he says, handing it over along with a plate of cinnamon rolls that had been resting on the end table next to him. “See what you think.”

Yujin just holds out his hand.

--

In October, Hanbin and Taerae both fall prey to the flu that’s cursing the castle and Ricky’s away at a week-long Applied Alchemy workshop, which leaves Gunwook as the only Prefect of sufficient age to supervise detention, and is how he finds himself collecting his work and heading to the first floor every evening for a week.

Yujin is there every night.

“Come on ,” Gunwook groans on Friday when he walks in to see Yujin in his usual back row seat. “Honestly, Yujin, why are you here?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he knows it even as it leaves his mouth, but it’s been a long week and he’s starting to feel a little flu-ey himself, pushing aside the ache in his sinuses to pull out his homework and drop it on the desk at the front of the room.

“Well, it’s sure not for the company,” Yujin sniffs, and kicks his feet up on his desk in a show of insolence.

Gunwook’s immediately grateful that no other students are around, because he is not equipped to handle this today, not in public.

“What,” he says, “and here I thought my German had been getting better.”

“Your German is an affront to drunk Oktoberfest revelers everywhere,” Yujin answers, but drops his feet to the floor, and at least he’s talking, Gunwook thinks. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean that Gunwook has any more energy to deal with him than he did when he walked in.

“Look,” he says, walking over and dropping to his knees in front of Yujin and resting his folded arms on the desk between them so they’re eye to eye. “This is ridiculous. Stop,” he says, as Yujin opens his mouth to argue, “I know you’re better than this. I want you to prove it.” He holds up a finger. “There’s a Hogsmeade weekend coming up.” Yujin folds his arms and looks away. “I know that your Hogsmeade privileges have been suspended. If you get through a week with no detentions, I’ll talk to McGonagall myself about you going.”

Yujin turns to stare at him, eyes wide, and Gunwook tries not to think too hard about how good it makes him feel to the focus of all that determined attention. He also tries not to think about what it means that Yujin seems this shocked that anyone, ever, would go out on a limb for him, even one as minor as speaking to a professor on his behalf.

“Why?” Yujin says after a long moment, his voice soft and raspy. “Why would you do that for me?”

Maybe it’s the fever talking, but Gunwook’s never been good at dissembling anyway.

“Because I want to see you happy,” he says, and then when Yujin goes completely still and silent, realizes he may have crossed a line, and immediately starts to stand, hoping to back away quickly and preserve his dignity. He gets halfway up before Yujin’s eyes go wide again, but this time in something like alarm, and the last thing Gunwook hears is his name as the darkness comes up to swallow him.

--

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone move so fast, let alone someone carrying your monster carcass,” Taerae says fondly. “I still have no idea how he managed to get you up the stairs to the infirmary.”

Gunwook flushes hard where he lies in his bed next to a pile of used tissues. “I don’t believe you,” he says quietly.

“Oh, believe it. And there was no magic involved; his wand was back in the classroom with all your books. Dude is just like, freakishly strong. Maybe it’s a Durmstrang thing?”

“Maybe,” Gunwook says in the hopes of putting the topic to rest. “Did one of you go get my books for me? I’m probably well enough I should start catching up on homework,” he sighs.

“No, but Yujin brought them.”

“He what ?” Gunwook looks at Taerae in horror. “He’s been here?”

“Oh, Gunwook,” Taerae chortles, “you better be careful. I think you’ve picked up a stray.” He gives Black a cursory pet as she nudges imperiously at his hand from her position next to Gunwook’s knees. “Yeah, dude, he was here twice, first to deliver your books while you were still in the infirmary, and then to check on you after you got back.”

“ Ugh ,” Gunwook says with feeling, and covers his face with his hands.

“Aw, come on, buddy. It’s not that big a deal. Everyone gets sick. At least you didn’t yack all over him or something like Hanbin did with Romelle second year.” Taerae pats his arm. “Why are you stressed about this?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Gunwook says, trying to be grateful for small mercies. Hanbin had avoided Romelle for a year, he reminds himself, digging his fingers into Black’s fur to feel her reassuring rumble of a purr. “I don’t know? Just embarrassing, I guess.”

It’s true, he thinks. He’s not entirely sure why the idea of himself swooning unconscious into Yujin’s arms, or lying asleep while Yujin checks on him makes him feel all discombobulated. He likes Yujin well enough, but they’re not what he’d call friends, not really. Not yet, anyway.

“He hasn’t been in detention this week,” Taerae says casually, and Gunwook freezes. “I wonder what changed? Hanbin says McGonagall’s thrilled- for once, it’s only Gyuvin causing problems.”

“Not at all?” Gunwook gets out before he succumbs to a coughing fit.

Taerae shrugs. “Not that I’ve seen. If he could have just decided not to do it earlier, I don’t know why he didn’t. I guess he just must’ve finally found the proper motivation, whatever that is.”

“Yeah,” Gunwook says faintly, “I guess so.”

“You ok?” Taerae frowns at him. “You’re looking kinda peaky again.” He pats Gunwook’s leg. “I’m gonna head on out, you get some rest and feel better soon, ok?”

“Thanks, Taerae,” Gunwook says, mustering a weak smile for his friend. “I appreciate it.”

Taerae flaps a hand dismissively at him from the doorway, and lets the wooden door close solidly behind him. Gunwook barely hears it, his mind caught on the color of fall leaves, of ripe fruit, of banked embers.

--

Gunwook’s finishing his homework in the Slytherin common room the following Friday evening, close to the door and ignoring the rest of his house as they chatter by the fire or test spells in the corners.

“Hey,” he hears a voice say, and turns to look. “This makes two weeks,” Yujin states, his eyes dark and intense, and Gunwook gapes at him wordlessly until his head disappears from the doorway as mysteriously as it had appeared. It doesn’t occur to him until minutes later to wonder how the hell Yujin even got into the basement.

--

Saturday morning dawns crisp and clear, and finds Gunwook standing in front of McGonagall’s fire in her private apartments. She’s dressed in a wrapper and a shawl, but is no less intimidating than she is in full robes and hat.

“So, you are asking me to revoke a decision made weeks ago as a suitable punishment for misbehavior because you said you could get it reversed?”

“No, Professor,” Gunwook says, holding himself ramrod straight and trying to ignore the creeping fear in the back of his mind that he may fail. “I would like you to please revoke it, conditionally, in recognition of progress made.”

“Two weeks without detention is not an achievement, Mr Park. It is an expectation. The very expectation, in fact, that we make of all of our students every term. There is nothing special in having succeeded at meeting the most basic of expectations.”

“Normal behavior for normal students results in normal privileges,” Gunwook counters, “including, for fifth years, the privilege of visiting Hogsmeade. And,” he continues, meeting her eyes, “in this case, it is special. A nod of recognition from the head of teaching could go a long way, Professor, if you don’t mind my saying so. A vote of confidence.”

“Telling me how to run my student body, now, Gunwook? Perhaps you should have been a Gryffindor; you’ve got the backbone for it.”

“I apologize if I’m out of line…” Gunwook begins, but McGonagall holds up a hand to cut him off.

“I’m tempted to turn you down simply because you promised him a concession which was not yours to give, and without receiving prior consent,” she says, and Gunwook feels his heart drop. “But that would be short-sighted of me. You may inform Mr Han that he is allowed to visit Hogsmeade today, and will be permitted to return in the future, assuming his good behavior continues. However,” she points a finger at Gunwook, “he is your responsibility. Take good care.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Gunwook says, already backing out of the room, “I appreciate your generosity. I’ll keep a good eye on him.”

“See that you do,” McGonagall says as he edges through the door, and escapes into the hallway. He pauses outside the door to catch his breath, leaning against the wall and beginning to smile.

Now he just has to find Yujin.

--

“I’ve never been somewhere like this,” Yujin says, his tone neutral but his eyes round with wonder

as they walk down the High Street. His cheeks are pink with the chill, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“Somewhere like what?” Gunwook asks, trying to see the village with new eyes. It’s hard; he’s used to Hogsmeade after years of coming here, and it holds no particular charm for him at this point beyond being somewhere that’s not school.

Yujin purses his lips, clearly trying to think of how to explain what’s on his mind. “It’s nothing like what we have at home, how it looks,” he starts, and Gunwook nods.

“You mean America?”

“Yeah,” Yujin laughs ruefully. “I grew up in the desert. It doesn’t…” he gestures vaguely at the cluster of pointing stone chimneys and hunching timbered houses in front of them. “It doesn’t look anything like this. Everything’s low and flat, reds and browns. Not pointy. Green.”

“The desert?” Gunwook asks curiously, steering them to the Three Broomsticks. It’s hard for him to remember that Yujin’s American in the first place, since Gunwook first knew of him as a student who transferred from Durmstrang. Yujin’s accent is a melange, fitting closely to the speech patterns of his conversational partner of the moment, only shifting when he’s remembering a particular event or place.

Gunwook opens the door to the pub and ushers Yujin in ahead of him, pulling the door behind them to keep the chilly air outside. “Here, you grab a table and I’ll grab us some butterbeers,” he says, gesturing toward the bar.

A quick look of panic scuttles across Yujin’s face, and Gunwook’s thrown for a second, running what he’s said through his mind, trying to figure out what he’s done wrong.

“I don’t have any…” Yujin starts, and the penny drops. Gunwook smiles easily, and waves him off.

“My treat,” he says with a smile, “to welcome you to Hogsmeade properly,” he adds as Yujin starts to protest, turning and heading to the bar without waiting for further debate. He can almost feel Yujin pulling a face behind him, and wants to laugh at the thought.

“Two butterbeers, please,” he says, setting his money down on the bar and smiling at Rosmerta.

“Pretty boy you’ve got with you,” she comments appreciatively, tipping her head at where Yujin has settled pensively into a window seat. “First date?”

“No,” Gunwook says, feeling his cheeks flush with sudden warmth at the suggestion. God, is that what they look like? He hadn’t even thought of it, but he can see how she’d get that idea. “Just a friend. He’s new to the school.”

“Uh huh,” Rosmerta says, clearly unconvinced. “Good of you to show him around,” she adds with a wink, passing over two foaming tankards.

Gunwook just smiles, because there’s nothing he can say that won’t just sound like he’s protesting too much. He takes the tankards with a muttered thanks, and heads back toward Yujin.

Is this where he would take someone on a first date, he wonders idly, is this where he would take Yujin on a first date? It’s a possibility, he admits to himself - an excursion with food, drink, a bit of privacy but nothing uncomfortable. He’d be far from the first student or townsperson to pick a corner table with a warm beverage in order to ply his hopes.

Yujin looks up at him and gives a hesitant smile as Gunwook settles his drink in front of him, and Gunwook forces himself to banish the thought. He’s here as Yujin’s friend, and even that much is still new.
Best to stick with the here and now.

“Ever tried butterbeer?” Gunwook asks, pushing one of the drinks toward him. Yujin looks adorably suspicious, and Gunwook bites his lip not to laugh.

Yujin shakes his head dubiously, eyeing the foaming tankard in front of him. “What’s it like?”

“Mostly it’s like butterscotch?” Gunwook answers, “or maybe cream soda.” He takes a long draught of his own drink, exhaling in pleasure as the sweetness hits his tongue. “It’s good.”

“Clearly,” Yujin says drily, the corner of his mouth twitching, but he obediently lifts his cup. Gunwook wishes he had a camera, because the face that Yujin makes at the taste is one he’ll treasure forever.

“Jesus Christ,” Yujin says with feeling, “that’s sweet .”

“Do you like it?” Gunwook genuinely can’t divine anything from Yujin’s expression other than surprise, and finds himself maybe a little too invested in Yujin’s enjoyment of this thing that’s so much a part of Gunwook’s Hogwarts experience.

“Yeah,” Yujin says thoughtfully, taking another drink, scrunching up his eyebrows as he contemplates the taste, “yeah, it’s nice. Just not quite what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Gunwook asks curiously, reaching out to gesture at Yujin’s cheek. “You’ve got a little foam, just…” he points.

Yujin scrubs at his face with the end of his scarf, and it should be gross instead of endearing, but here they are, Gunwook thinks resignedly. He’s not entirely sure, in retrospect, at what point Yujin went from being an annoying enigma to a going concern to someone he really thinks is cute, but apparently he has. He’s tempted to chalk it up to the power of Rosmerta’s suggestion, but when he thinks of Yujin bent in concentration over his homework, of Yujin bringing his books when he was sick, Yujin reaching idly to pet Black as she settles next to him in the Slytherin common room, it feels a little dishonest to blame someone else.

“Did I get it?” Yujin asks, and Gunwook just nods, trying not to stare at the way Yujin’s skin glows in the low light. “I mean, it has beer in the name, I guess I expected like… sweet beer.” He takes another sip, licking his lips to chase the flavor, and Gunwook buries his flaming face in his own drink. This has all the makings of a very long day.

--

“Tell me about Durmstrang,” he says to Yujin later as they wander slowly down the street. There’s a nip in the air, and Yujin’s not complaining, but Gunwook notices he’s staying close, using Gunwook’s bulk as a wind-block.

“Not much to tell,” Yujin shrugs, “Cold. Big. Lots of root vegetables.” Gunwook snorts out a laugh. “How long were you there?”
“Two and a half years,” Yujin answers. “My German’s better than my French.”

“That’s a long time in the cold for someone who grew up in the desert,” he says, and instantly regrets it as Yujin gets a faraway look in his eyes.

“Honestly, it was more like the desert than Beauxbatons was,” he answers quietly. “Still wet and cold, obviously, but there was something in the austerity…”

“You didn’t like France?”

Yujin frowns. “I didn’t dislike it, but it was… too different. I never fit in. They’re very…” he waves a hand in frustration. “They’re all very nice, and correct, and beautiful, and I’m ” he
gestures at himself wryly, “well, you’ve met me.”

I think you’re beautiful , Gunwook thinks, but bites his tongue. He can believe that Yujin wouldn’t actually fit in well with the easy social airs and graces of the Beauxbaton crowd, and can also imagine how alienating it would feel to a new student coming to a new country, alone and unexpected.

“I did learn to dance, though,” Yujin says with a smirk, and Gunwook can feel his mouth fall open at the thought. “Here,” he takes Gunwook by the hand with a mischievous look, and before Gunwook can respond, he finds himself spun around and dipped halfway to the street.

Gunwook gapes like a fish, and Yujin does him the kindness of pulling him back upright before he cracks up at the expression on Gunwook’s face.

“Well, you definitely didn’t learn that at Durmstrang,” Gunwook comments, tugging at his shirt in a futile effort to save face. Yujin is still laughing, but Gunwook is trying to make his brain unstick from the fact that Yujin is strong enough to heave him around like a child. He does the math instead, counting backwards. “You were at Beauxbatons for ”

“Six months until they decided it ‘wasn’t a good placement’ for me,” Yujin answers, the mirth falling from his face. “And a year at Ilvermorny before that.”

“And now here,” Gunwook says with a smile, elbowing him gently in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Till I graduate or get kicked out,” Yujin agrees easily with a shrug, hands back in his pockets, “whichever comes first.”

The fatalism of it makes Gunwook’s heart hurt, and he thinks of Madame Sprout’s worried face, McGonagall’s willingness to bend the rules in an effort to save this boy.

“C’mon,” he says cheerfully, settling his hand on Yujin’s shoulder and pointing him at the steps into Honeydukes. “Let’s go get enough candy to make ourselves sick.”

Yujin laughs in surprise, the weak afternoon sun casting his face into a study in sharp shadows, shaking his head in mock dismay as they step through the doorway.

--

They exit an hour later, each of them carrying a sack of candy the size of a bludger. Gunwook’s fingers are sticky and smell like oranges, and he thinks there’s still a jelly bean somewhere down his shirt. Night is falling fast, the street lamps of the village glowing softly in the low light.

“We should get back,” Gunwook says, and Yujin nods, suppressing a shiver in the cool air. “Here,” he says, shrugging out of his coat and wrapping it around Yujin’s shoulders, “you’re cold.”

“Gunwook, I can’t…” Yujin starts, beginning to lift the coat off and hand it back, but Gunwook shakes his head and does up the top button so that it hangs like a cape around Yujin’s smaller frame.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says with a smile, “I’ve got a sweater and you’re just in your shirtsleeves. Besides,” he adds with a hand to Yujin’s shoulder, schooling his face into mock seriousness, “I promised McGonagall I’d look out for you. So I’m just doing my duty.”

Yujin rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t try to give back the coat again. The twilight only serves to highlight the unusual color of his huge, dark eyes, and the picture of him in Gunwook’s jacket makes Gunwook’s heart do a flip that has nothing to do with the amount of sugar he’s just ingested.

“Whatever, old man,” Yujin says, and turns back to the castle, moving slowly until Gunwook catches up, matching their steps together as they head up the path toward the lights at the crest of the hill.

--

“Hey,” Hanbin says one day late in the month, “thanks for making time to spend with Yujin. I think it’s really made a difference.”

“Oh?” Gunwook looks up from where he’s working through his Arithmancy homework. “Does it seem like he’s doing better?”

“He and Gyuvin still fight, but they’ve mostly stopped doing it in class, so that’s something. And I saw you with him at Hogsmeade.” He smiles, and Gunwook ducks his head in the hopes that he won’t notice the flush that memory brings to his cheeks. “It was very kind of you to get him permission to go.”

“He earned it,” Gunwook shrugs, “I just talked to McGonagall.” Hanbin rolls his eyes. “ Just talked to McGonagall.”
“She’s not that scary,” Gunwook points out, “and she’s your head of house. You shouldn’t be so intimidated by her.”

"Nonsense,” Hanbin scoffs, “that’s exactly why I should be so intimidated.”

Gunwook just shrugs and turns back to his scroll, chewing the end of his quill in thought.

“Listen,” Hanbin says after a moment, and Gunwook hmms for him to continue. “I was thinking. Yujin’s still benched on account of the number of practices he missed because of his detentions, but I’d like him to stay in shape for when he’s able to play.”

“I don’t know…”

“I know you practice on your own in the mornings sometimes,” Hanbin presses, “maybe you could invite him along? Just let him go through your drills with you?”

Gunwook rubs his forehead. He’s busy, and since Yujin’s been staying out of detention, he hasn’t seen that much of him. They greet each other in the halls, and Gunwook always makes sure to smile at him when they’re at dinner. They’ve sat together in the library once when they both happened to be there at the same time, but Gunwook hasn’t tried to seek him out, and Yujin hasn’t come to find Gunwook either. Honestly, since Hogsmeade, Gunwook’s been trying not to think about Yujin too much, because he knows the signs of an obsessively terrible crush in the making when he sees them in himself, and he’d rather not lose time pining over someone he’s supposed to be helping. Unrequited love has never been his thing, and he doesn’t want to pressure a new friendship with feelings no one asked for.

“Gunwook, he’s been moping since Hogsmeade,” Hanbin says finally, and Gunwook brings his head up in

surprise. “He’s not getting in trouble, but… I think he’s lonely. I know you’re busy and it’s a big ask, but… if you could.”

Gunwook put his head down on the desk. He can picture it all too well, Yujin silently staring out the window, and it hurts.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, and against his better judgment. “Okay.”

--

“Did you fly at Durmstrang?” Gunwook asks, adjusting his training gear. It’s chilly out, the grass wet with dew and the sun low in the sky even though it’s nearly eight in the morning.

“Yeah,” Yujin says, “second string, though. Their Seeker’s a seventh year, and really good.” He pulls a Ravenclaw blue-and-silver hat down over his ears, making his black hair stick out from under it like a smashed bush.

“Hanbin says you’re really good,” Gunwook muses, checking his broom over for any scuffs or flaws. Yujin’s broom is clearly a hand-me-down, and he leans on it nonchalantly in a way that offends Gunwook’s sensibilities.

Yujin just shrugs. “I didn’t even learn what Quidditch was till I started at Ilvermorny and had a roommate who was really into it. Didn’t learn to fly till Durmstrang. I guess I do okay for being pretty new at it still.”

Gunwook turns to look at him. It’s far too early for most of the student body to be up and about on a Saturday, and they’ve got the Quidditch field to themselves for the moment. Yujin looks tired, and Gunwook’s pretty sure he’s not a morning person, but he’d agreed immediately when Gunwook’d asked if he wanted to join him for his drills. It makes Gunwook worry a little, how easily Yujin agrees to his company, makes him wonder how used Yujin might be to being lonely that he’ll say yes to anyone who offers their time.

“Did you know anything about the magical world at all before you got your letter?” he asks gently. He remembers Professor Sprout mentioning that Yujin was found in a Muggle orphanage, that it’s likely at least one of his parents was a Muggle, but there are plenty of mixed marriages. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Yujin hadn’t known at least one magical parent, only that they hadn’t been able to make arrangements for him to be raised by magical friends or family.

Yujin shakes his head, picking at a stray twig in the end of his broom. “No. My dad was a Muggle, I’m pretty sure. My mom… she left when I was a baby, so I don’t know. But Pop died when I was eight, and I ended up in the home, and just stayed there until someone turned up with a letter for me the summer I was eleven.” He kicks a leg over his broom and holds, meeting Gunwook’s eyes with a bored look. He’s clearly done discussing his past, and Gunwook can respect that. “So, what do you do?”

“First,” Gunwook says, straddling his broom and kicking up, “just some warm-up laps. Then an obstacle course through the hoops and around them, different patterns, that sort of thing.” He looks over at Yujin, whose broom hardly looks like it can support even his slight weight, but Gunwook’s already learned not to take Yujin at face value. “We could do some racing, since there’s two of us. And then, at the end, I like to chase a snitch.”

A slow smile blooms across Yujin’s face, and Gunwook can feel the heat in his cheeks rise in response. “Let’s go, then,” Yujin says, and takes off into the morning light. Gunwook gives a whoop and follows

him.

--

Yujin is every bit as fast and good as promised, and Gunwook has to work to keep up with him. It is a delight, one that Gunwook hasn’t felt in years, to be challenged like this, to have someone he has to chase instead of being chased himself. The speed Yujin gets on his dilapidated broom is nigh unbelievable, and he is utterly fearless as he flings himself at breakneck speeds around the hoops and through the obstacles. The only drop Gunwook can get on him is through sheer experience, and he pulls out every trick in his book to win their race and finish the obstacle course first.

At the end of it they land, steam rising from their clothes in the frigid morning air. Yujin is laughing freely, and Gunwook hauls him in for an exuberant hug, feeling Yujin go first rigid in his arms, then melt into the touch like Ricky’s fat yellow cat getting its belly rubbed.

“Yujin,” Gunwook says, rubbing a hand fondly up and down his back, “you’re incredible . I’ve never seen anyone so good with so little experience. We’ve got to get you fully on the team- you’re going to break every record set at Hogwarts!”

“Aren’t most of those yours?” Yujin asks, his face still flushed and grinning, but a hint of nervousness flickering in the back of his eyes. His arms are still clumsily wrapped around Gunwook’s waist, and Gunwook hangs on to Yujin’s shoulders as he laughs.

“Yeah, they are.” He beams. “And you’re gonna break them all. I’m gonna watch you, and it’s going to be amazing. You’re going to be amazing.”

Yujin shakes his head, but the fear in his eyes has gone and his grin is as wide as Gunwook’s ever seen it.

“You’re ridiculous, old man,” he says, and Gunwook claps him on the back with glee.

“Let’s go again,” he says, letting go of Yujin to grab his broom, launching into the air without waiting to see if Yujin is behind him. He already knows he is.

--

October ends in the dark and wet and cold, and November rises in a mess of sneezing and term papers. After a few weeks of unofficial Quidditch sessions that leave them both exhausted and exhilarated in equal measure, the terrible weather drives Yujin and Gunwook inside and the amount of Gunwook’s homework drives him to ground. It picks up for everyone, to the point that he even catches Yujin with his nose in a book for once, but Gunwook’s basically to the point of surfacing only to eat and bathe and go to class, and some days he’s only accomplishing any two of those.

He barely sees Yujin, and it hurts. He misses his friend, misses the time they spent together, but it’s hardly anything personal- he doesn’t see anyone outside of class really, not at this time of the semester, and he and Yujin don’t overlap in their schedules. He catches glimpses of Hanbin and Ricky and Taerae at meals, on the days they emerge from their book stacks to eat. He sees Ricky in passing in the Slytherin common room when he puts out the results of his latest stress baking. He catches glimpses of Yujin sometimes at the Ravenclaw table, sitting quietly at the end as he eats; they spent one whole afternoon together in the library, and Gunwook treasured it for the rest of the week.

It’s a bit of a shock to his system when he shows up to supervise Wednesday night detention in the late November and looks up from the stack of books he’s just dropped on the desk to see a familiar

blue-clad figure occupying the corner desk. Their eyes lock, and Yujin looks away, his mouth tightening, but the room is full of other students busily scribbling into their notes, so Gunwook doesn’t say a word.

Yujin’s not there on Friday when Gunwook covers detention duty for Hanbin, but he’s back again the following Monday when Gunwook has his regularly scheduled detention night, camped out in the corner with his heels on the desk. He at least has a book in hand, so Gunwook leaves him alone and attempts to answer questions from some of the younger students as they work through assignments. Yujin leaves without a word, sliding out with the rest of them as soon as their time is up.

A little dinner-time reconnaissance with the other prefects reveals that Yujin is not, in fact, showing up in everyone’s detentions, and red flags go up for Gunwook.

“No,” Taerae says, “I haven’t seen him in at least a month,” and Ricky shakes his head in agreement.

Hanbin just frowns. “I hadn’t even heard that he’d gotten in trouble again,” he says pensively, “I know McGonagall’s been very happy with his progress so far. And he’s…” he pauses, a funny look crossing his face, “Gunwook, he’s only showing up in your scheduled detentions?”

“Yes.” Gunwook drags a hand across his face. “I’ll talk to him.”

--

“Hey,” he calls out the following Friday night as Yujin starts to slip out the door, “Yujin, wait!”

Yujin’s head tips at the sound of Gunwook’s voice, but he keeps walking, shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting the weight of his satchel on his shoulder.

“Please,” Gunwook asks, hurriedly piling his things into his bag and watching to make sure the last of the students gather up all their belongings.

That makes Yujin pause, even if he doesn’t look at Gunwook. He stands quietly by the door until the last of the younger students is out and Gunwook turns up beside him.

Gunwook exhales, then takes Yujin carefully by the elbow, feeling the tension that’s thrumming through Yujin’s body, hunching his shoulders and tightening his arm. “Come on,” Gunwook says, and starts walking.

--

The top of the Astronomy tower is more than a little cold, but it’s also deserted, so Gunwook settles onto a bench near the edge and pats the spot next to him. Yujin sits, but still isn’t meeting Gunwook’s eyes. He tips his head back instead, staring up at the myriad of stars, and Gunwook catches his breath at the sight of him.

“Hey,” he says finally, keeping his voice quiet and calm, “why are you back in detention?” Yujin shrugs, but it’s a small, defeated thing.
“Got in trouble.”

Gunwook makes a speculative noise. “Got in trouble specifically only on the days when I have detention duty?”

There’s no answer, only a guilty shifting on the bench beside him. Gunwook sighs, and fishes in his bag

until he finds his hat, pulling it out and shoving it unapologetically on Yujin’s head. He knows how Yujin’s ears burn in the cold.

Yujin brings a hand up to rub at the golden yarn, gone silver in the starlight. His voice when he speaks is quiet, and rougher than Gunwook’s ever heard it.

“I don’t get to see you anymore.”

There it is , Gunwook thinks, and he reaches out without hesitation to wrap an arm around the boy at his side, pulling him in close..

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around,” he says, and feels Yujin stiffen next to him. Waiting to be given an insincere excuse , he thinks. “I’ve missed you, too,” Gunwook says instead.

Yujin relaxes by incremental degrees under his arm as the silence stretches between them. Gunwook’s not sure if it’s his presence or his body heat, but he’s okay with either option so long as Yujin is feeling more comfortable.

“You know you can always just come find me, right?” Gunwook asks quietly after a while, “anyone would let you into the Slytherin dorms, or you can come sit with us at meals.”

“When you show up for them,” Yujin scoffs, and Gunwook has to admit he has a point.

“Well, then, if you really want, you can come sit in detention for old time’s sake,” he says, then knocks his knee into the one next to his. “But you can do it without actually getting in trouble, you know.”

“...oh,” Yujin says, and Gunwook would laugh if it weren’t as tragic as it is funny. The weight of it hits him then, that Yujin’s first resort to get someone to spend time with him is both to sabotage his own success without a second thought and also to show up where they won’t be able to just walk away from him. He tightens his arm around the slender body beside him.

“No more getting in trouble, okay?” he says, “I still need to see you play for Ravenclaw, and the teachers will never let you do that if they hear you’re getting detentions again.”

Yujin is silent for a long moment. “Promise you’ll still see me sometimes?”

“Of course,” Gunwook says earnestly, “of course I will. I want to see you, too. And it won’t stay this busy forever, even if it feels that way right now.” He turns to face Yujin on the bench, tugging at the hat to make sure it covers enough of Yujin’s head to keep him warm. “I’m never going to give up on you. And I promise I’ll do a better job of making time for you,” he says, holding Yujin’s gaze, “and I’m sorry I didn’t before.”

Yujin’s smile is small, but steady.

“Okay,” he says, and nods hesitantly. Gunwook’s heart aches in his chest. “Okay.”

--

“Taerae,” Gunwook groans, burying his head in his hands, “I don’t know what to do.”

The thunk on the top of his head is comparatively light, which Gunwook does appreciate. Taerae’s not always that circumspect when he’s hitting people with books.

“Yes, you do, ninny. You walk up to him, and you say, ‘Yujin, I think you’re the prettiest boy in

the whole school, will you go to the Yule Ball with me’.”

“But what if he says no?” Gunwook whines from his position face-down on the table. “What if I just go to the ball on my own, and then we can hang out? That seems safer.”

“You could do that,” Taerae agrees breezily, “but what if someone else asks him? He is, after all, The Prettiest.”

Gunwook can’t even find it within himself to debate that, so he just groans into his textbook instead.

“He’s not going to say no, idiot.” The eyeroll is as obvious in Taerae’s tone as it must be on his face. “He thinks you hung the moon in the sky. He thinks the stars have nothing on your eyes. He thinks the sun shines out of your…”

“I get it, Taerae,” Gunwook says testily, sitting and rubbing his hands through his hair. “I just… I’m nervous. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“I know, buddy.” Taerae claps him on the shoulder. “But trust me- this’ll be fine.”

--

Gunwook thinks of a hundred ways to do it, and spends a miserable three weeks contemplating the pros and cons of every possible option. He could ask Taerae for help with making an elaborate spell that would ask Yujin to the ball for him, preferably one with hearts and flowers. He could have Hanbin coach him with his German until he can ask Yujin in the language that first had Yujin talking to him. He could ask Ricky to let him use Ricky’s beautiful owl to deliver a series of romantic notes, culminating in an invitation. He could get Ricky to help him bake cookies in letter shapes that would spell out his question, and leave it where Yujin could find (and eat) it.

They’re all terrible ideas, and he knows it. Meanwhile, he’s surrounded by giggling couples and gaggles of gossiping friends, flowers or scrolls or chocolates in hand, blushes high on their cheeks as they sneak gGyuvins at the lucky invitee. Or, alternatively, there are the heartbroken rejectees, who slink off to the grounds or the library or the washrooms, embarrassed at best and hysterically sobbing at worst. As confident as Gunwook is that Yujin would at the very least let him down gently, he can all too easily see himself numbered among their midst, hapless and ashamed, and all because he presumed more from a friendship than was there.

The worst thought of all, the one that really does keep him up at night, is the fear that Yujin will say yes, not because he wants to, not because he likes Gunwook, but because he doesn’t know how to say no. That Yujin will agree because he doesn’t want to alienate his only friend, because he fears disappointing Gunwook.

The stress of it all, combined with the inevitable ramping up of the pre-exams work and study load, has Gunwook so out of it that Yujin’s quiet question when they’re studying one night by the Slytherin fire doesn’t register for at least a solid minute.

“I’m sorry,” Gunwook says finally, raising his head from his homework, “what did you….”

“I said,” Yujin answers, rolling his eyes in amusement even as he wrings his hands together with nerves, “would you go to the Yule Ball with me?” His eyes are huge and dark, his face calm, but his fingers are still twisting in the threadbare front of his robes.

“ Yes ,” Gunwook says emphatically, and Yujin’s smile is blinding. “Yes, I’d love to,” Gunwook adds, just in case he wasn’t clear enough, dragging a hand through the mess of his hair and leaning back in his seat to laugh.

“What’s so funny,” Yujin asks, narrowing his eyes at Gunwook, who drags himself back upright to smile at Yujin with every ounce of the relief and delight coursing through his body.

“You beat me to the punch,” he says, and can’t help but grin as Yujin’s cheeks go pink with surprise and pleasure. “I hadn’t figured out how to ask you yet, but I was going to.”

“Sorry,” Yujin says, ducking his head in a rare display of shyness, “didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”

“Don’t be,” Gunwook says earnestly, reaching across the table to take Yujin’s hand in his. It’s smaller, but strong, callused across the palm and fingers from his broom and chilly at the fingertips. Gunwook wraps it in his own warm grip and waits for Yujin’s gaze to return to his. “I’m so glad you asked. And I’m really looking forward to going with you.”

The flush on Yujin’s cheeks gets darker, but he doesn’t look away. Gunwook feels mesmerized, rooted to the spot by the touch of Yujin’s fingers against his own, feels like he’s drowning in Yujin’s deep stare. He’s not sure how long it lasts, but they break away finally as a gaggle of Gunwook’s fellow Slytherins come tumbling through the door into the common room, reclaiming their hands and returning their attention to their homework.

Gunwook rereads the same page for an hour until Yujin excuses himself for the night, and retains exactly none of the information on it.

--

The evening of the ball draws near, and Gunwook feels like he’s barely seen Yujin at all in weeks, even with their now semi-regular study sessions. Between classes, exams, and Quidditch matches, it feels like they’re ships passing in the night, and while the stress of trying to figure out how to ask Yujin to go with him has passed, it’s been hard not spending more time together. Gunwook misses him, rather more than he thinks is appropriate given the length of time they’ve known each other, but he chalks it up to the fact that nothing about Yujin seems to conform to any “normal” standard and moves on.

The day of the ball arrives, and Gunwook gets ready too early, adjusting his cloud-grey dress robes in the mirror for the umpteenth time, settling the pearl-buttoned cuffs around his wrists and finger- combing his dark hair into the same shape it always takes. His shoes are shined, his face is shaved, his robes are pressed. He looks the same as he always does, he thinks, only with a fancier covering. There’s no helping it at this point though, so he takes himself off to Ricky’s room to fret while he waits.

“I have literally no idea why you’re nervous,” Ricky observes, adjusting his own Silk robes in the mirror. They scream money, in typical Ricky fashion. His blonde hair is slicked back, not a strand out of place. “Yujin is so into you.”

“Yeah,” Gunwook says, “that’s what makes me nervous.” He exhales hard, looking down at his hands. “I really like him, Ricky,” he says finally, and Ricky leaves off adjusting his tie to come settle next to Gunwook on the bed and wrap a long arm around him.

“Hey, Gunwook,” Ricky says, pulling him in for a strong hug, “listen, don’t worry. This is the best part!” He pushes Gunwook back and takes him by the shoulders, beaming at him. He looks colder than he is, and Gunwook can’t help but feel better under the force of Ricky’s confidence. “You’re just starting a new thing with someone you care a lot about, who cares a lot about you. Who knows where it will go, but- this part? Tonight?” Ricky claps him on the back and

stands back up, adjusting his robes one last time before pulling Gunwook to his feet. “This is gonna be great.”

--

They hadn’t arranged a place to meet, so Gunwook doesn’t see him at first, scanning the room anxiously for the head of dark hair he knows so well already, but the room is full of milling wizards and witches in their finery, and not a single Yujin to be found.

It’s fine, Gunwook tells himself, probably Yujin is just running a little late. He mingles, says hi to his Quidditch teammates. Most of the crowd is assembled, but the music hasn’t yet begun, there’s still time for him to appear. Gunwook angles his way through the crowd toward the doors, trying to keep an eye out, but with a sudden clap of the headmaster’s hands, the sea of students parts and the floor clears for the first dance. Gunwook is pulled along with the crowd, pushed up so he’s nearly to the wall and can’t see the doors as the Head Boy and Head Girl take the floor with their dates. The music starts with a flourish, and the couples are off, the Head Boy resplendent in his dress robes while the three girls are stunning in their respective evening gowns.

“Hey,” comes a quiet voice at his elbow, and Gunwook starts in surprise as a hand winds its way into his own. “Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s fine,” Gunwook says, turning, and opens his mouth to say more, but finds himself utterly speechless at the sight of the boy in front of him. Yujin has forgone the more traditional Hogwarts dress robes in favor of what must have been his Durmstrang uniform, heavy, austere, and of a rich, deep crimson. There’s a furred cape across his shoulders and his black hair has been tossed around, making him look even more boyish than Gunwook thought possible. The effect is stunning, and Gunwook has to force himself to close his mouth before he starts to catch flies.

Yujin pulls at the edge of his sleeve, and looks cautiously up at Gunwook. “I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to wear this, but it’s the nicest thing I have.”

“You look wonderful,” Gunwook tells him honestly, and Yujin ducks his head in embarrassment, twining his fingers into Gunwook’s own.

“So do you,” Yujin answers softly, letting his gaze travel over Gunwook, and Gunwook can feel his cheeks pink with pleasure. The music must have stopped, because the audience bursts into applause, and Yujin drops his grip to applaud with everyone else, but his eyes never leave Gunwook’s face.

The band strikes up the second number, and Yujin holds out his hand, a smile curving at the edges of his mouth.

“ M'accorderez-vous cette danse? ” he asks in perfectly accented French, a wicked gleam twinkling in his eye, and oh , Gunwook thinks, he is in so much trouble. He takes Yujin’s hand without a second thought, and lets himself be pulled onto the floor.

--

The candles overhead are guttering out as the last number plays, the floor having mostly emptied several numbers ago as the younger students fall prey to fatigue and the older students slip off to find hidden corners or take strolls around the grounds. The stars still glimmer above them, though, as Gunwook cradles Yujin in his arms, moving slowly foot to foot in a gentle two-step.

Ricky’s words echo in his mind as Yujin tucks his head into Gunwook’s neck like it belongs there, and Gunwook presses an unthinking kiss to the crown of Yujin’s head as they sway.

“Gunwook,” Yujin mumbles into his shoulder, and Gunwook isn’t sure if it’s fatigue or reticence coloring his voice.

“Yeah?” Gunwook says softly, unwilling to break the spell that’s fallen over the entire hall. There’s a gentle breeze blowing from the open door, air moving through the room to ruffle hair and dresses just lightly as the crowd abates.

“Thank you,” Yujin says, pulling back to catch Gunwook’s eye. His face is the most open Gunwook thinks he’s ever seen it, and his heart jumps in his chest at the sight. “Just…” he trails off, “thank you.
For everything. For...being you. For being my friend.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” Gunwook answers, raising a hand to cup Yujin’s cheek, watching with his heart in his throat as Yujin’s eyes flutter shut at the touch. “I couldn’t be more grateful to have you in my life.”

Yujin’s eyes open again, and the expression on his face says more than words ever could, a look of joy and anxiety twisted into something that closely resembles hope.

Gunwook responds the only way he knows how, using the arm he has wrapped around Yujin’s back to pull him up close as he runs his thumb across Yujin’s cheek.

“May I?” he whispers, and at Yujin’s careful nod, he leans in, and seals their mouths together in a kiss.

The music fades, the lights dim, all of the world melts away, and this, Gunwook thinks, this is the beginning of something wonderful.